


Smile

by HazelNMae



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, but only a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 01:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelNMae/pseuds/HazelNMae
Summary: Written for Anon on the prompt "Smile, fake a laugh, anything."





	Smile

You couldn’t see him–couldn’t make out the expression resting on his face–but you heard him laugh, and that was enough.

You sat there, for a solid five minutes, wearing the glasses that were much too strong for your vision, waiting for him to react. But he hadn’t looked up at you for some time, so you cleared your throat to get his attention.

And that laugh had been worth the wait.

Arthur Shelby’s laugh was infectious. It was the kind of laugh that bellowed, that started way down in his gut and rang out, loudly, in all directions. It was the kind of laugh that left him shaking and instantly sent those around him into their own hysterics. 

You lived to make him laugh.

You’d been working for the Peaky Blinders for years. And in all that time, the best thing about your job was watching Arthur laugh. 

“I hate you,” was all he said, when the laughter subsided. You just smiled, removed the glasses, and went back to your work.

Weeks later, during a particularly trying time for the company, you found yourself struggling to elicit a smile from Arthur. 

“Smile. Fake a laugh. Anything,” you begged with a silly smile on your face.

You’d donned a bonnet you’d pulled out of an old car that had been rummaged and ransacked earlier in the day. Batting your eyelashes and looking up at him, you hoped he’d react.

But he didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. In fact, it became apparent that he’d been drinking, heavily, for quite some time. It broke your heart to see him hurting. 

You threw off the bonnet and took the seat beside him. You started to speak, but thought better of it, knowing that what he needed when things got bad was just someone to be there.

You poured yourself a whiskey and leaned back in the chair. After a few minutes of silence, Arthur finally cleared his throat and smoothed out his hair. He leaned back, letting both hands rest in his lap.

You searched his face for any information–a sign that he wanted you to stay or go, an indication that he was okay or not. But he gave none.

Without thinking, you reached for him, placing your hand atop one of his. 

With your touch, Arthur’s eye twitched–ever so slightly. You’d have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so intently.

And as you started to remove you hand, he grabbed it in his own.

You sat there, in silence, holding hands. If Arthur was in no state to laugh at your jokes, he was at least willing to acknowledge your love. 

And you were happy to give it.

When he was ready to laugh again, you’d be there to elicit it and to enjoy it with your whole heart.


End file.
